Tilly gave in. There seemed no choice and she could not deny that though Eliza’s transparent adoration of her made her feel a little uncomfortable in one sense, in another it gave her great comfort. To have someone so young and of such a class of society so concerned for her well-being was agreeable, to say the least.
‘Well, let it be! I must make some arrangements to feed us in the meantime. I need eggs and milk for Mamma, too, of course. Have we enough for today for her?’
‘Oh, yes, Mum!’ Eliza said, incandescent with relief. ‘I told the egg man when he came, and the dairy man, as we’d settle up later, like all the ladies and gentlemen, and they went off without a murmur. You don’t have to pay on the nail, you know, Mum! I know that. None of the people round here do. Charlie told me, last time I went to get some coffee and candles and that.’
Tilly’s brows snapped down. ‘You have not been going to Mr Harrod’s shop, have you, Eliza? I told you, I have an arrangement with Mr Jobbins that I pay cash and he charges me the keenest prices.’
‘No, Mum, course I didn’t! But he’s in the shop alongside after all, and if he’s there in the alley you know, asweepin’ of the front, well, we ’as a bit of a laugh and that. And he told me as all the other ladies in these parts think nothing of running up huge great bills and paying when it suits ’em. Well, Mum, why can’t you?’
‘Because I have made an arrangement with Mr Jobbins.’
‘Yes, Mum, but not with Mr Harrod! I bet if you went along he’d be glad to have your trade. He don’t know as how you ain’t got much of the ready at present, and by the time he does, why, you’ll be well set up on account of the lawyers’ll have sorted it all out.’
‘I hope so,’ Tilly said, remembering all too painfully how unwilling her lawyer had been to tell her anything of her prospects. Well, he would have to now, she thought; and soon.
‘Well,’ she said in as dampening a tone as she could. ‘I will think about that. Meanwhile, I would prefer you to leave the shopping to me.’ And she took herself to the morning room to sit and think about what to do next.
Now Tilly could hold it back no longer. Her fatigue and the numbness and sheer busyness that had involved her this past few days of her father’s illness and death had had one highly beneficial effect. She had been able to stop herself from thinking about her real fear. Now, sitting in her morning room on this hot day in early August, she had to face the truth.
She did not expect to get anything from her father’s will. Her visit to Mr Conroy had filled her with doubts about her future, but since that day there had been little time or reason to think about what he had told her or, rather, not told her in the matter of her father’s intentions.
There was every possibility that her father had left all his possessions to Mrs Leander. There! She had allowed the thought to escape her control and to stare at her, and she stared back at it.
It might not be true, she told herself. Perhaps he had done the thing expected of him and left his entire fortune – such as it was in these difficult times – to his only child? But she knew her father had always done what he considered right for him and gave not a moment’s consideration to others’ opinions. She now also knew, all too painfully, just how much her father had been attached to Mrs Leander. Tilly had feared the loss of her home to the woman even when she thought she was just his paramour. Now she knew he had actually cared for her, how much more likely was it that he would have given her all his worldly goods?
Tilly began to shiver. She had to deal now with the harshest reality of her life. She was a pauper, an orphan without any means of support, and she was carrying a baby. How on earth was she going to manage?
The day after the funeral, which was carried out by the curate at Holy Trinity, for the vicar had long ago had a great argument with Austen Kingsley and could not be prevailed upon to bury him, Tilly went back to the church and told the curate all about her situation. He sat steepling his hands in quite the accepted priestly manner, even though he was not above five and twenty years old, and listened to her gravely.
‘The Lord will provide,’ he said at last when she had finished pouring out her tale of woe. Tilly stiffened her jaw at that.
‘Not necessarily, Mr Lincoln,’ she said sharply. ‘I have seen people in the streets of London who have no homes at all to go to. Does the Lord provide for them?’
He looked disapproving. ‘That is a somewhat impious way for a lady of delicacy to speak,’ he said. ‘I mean only that “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,” and you have at present the comfort of a home. So I see no point in discussing this matter with me – ahem – at present.’
‘But surely if I wait until I am sent out of my home I will be neglecting to take sensible care of myself? That would be reprehensible, would it not? I have heard the vicar preach often enough about the need for hard work and foresight in order to make the world a goodly place.’
Mr Lincoln coughed. ‘In a parish like this, Mrs Quentin, it is important to remember that the people to whom one preaches are – ahem – people who have an understanding of the world as it is. We cannot ignore their – um – tastes or their inclinations but must preach in the manner they will find easiest to understand.’
She felt hopeless listening to him and with that loss of hope anger began to grow. ‘You are saying that the vicar here at Holy Trinity is concerned only with the welfare of the rich parishioners who are building houses here, and who make fortunes for themselves in so doing? That you are not concerned with the problems of one of your parishioners who has fallen on hard times?’
‘But you do not know that you have,’ Mr Lincoln pointed out with what seemed to be sweet reason. ‘You are assuming that your father – ahem – has left his property away from you. I am sure you will find that, when the will is read, common sense will have prevailed and an awareness of what is right and proper will have –’
‘I wish I could be so sanguine,’ snapped Tilly. ‘I do not so believe. I fear that I will have no home in the next few weeks because the property has been left to – to another, and that I and my coming infant and my ailing mother will be penniless. I came to ask you if you knew of any respectable Christian charity that would be of aid to me, as a widow in a parlous situation.’
He had gone very pink, and she realized it was her indelicacy in referring to her condition that had so shocked him, and didn’t mind at all. In fact she leaned back in her chair and smoothed her gown over her front so that the growing bump was clearly apparent. Her fear and her anger, she realized, were making her positively unwomanly.
The redness on his face was joined by a moistness about the upper lip and forehead as he looked away from her.
‘I really cannot see, Mrs Quentin, what we here at Holy Trinity can do for you. This is a well-to-do neighbourhood and we have little experience of – ahem – the sort of situation you describe.’
‘And so are uninterested in me despite the fact that I am your parishioner,’ she retorted and got to her feet. ‘Then I must make other arrangements for myself. I will find someone somewhere who will aid me, I hope. In the meantime, Mr Lincoln, you may rest assured that whatever church I might attend in future – if I do – it will not be Holy Trinity. Clearly you are far too busy here for one such as I.’ And she swept out, her face burning. Quite what she had expected the church to be able to do for her, she was not sure. She had assumed that there were people here who would care about her predicament, but now she knew better. She was alone and would remain so. And she set out to return to Brompton Grove in a deep study.
This was broken as she reached the comer of the Grove and saw one of the omnibuses, brave and bright in its green paint, go spanking by behind a pair of very large black horses. She stared at the boards on the side where the destinations were painted and bit her lip, thinking hard. Then she turned and began to walk along the road down which the omnibus was now disappearing. She would go home the long way round, she decided. First there were visits she might us
efully make.
Chapter Nineteen
SHE KNEW SHE WAS being less than honest, yet it did not matter. All that was important was that her mother and Eliza and of course she herself should eat. Mr Harrod, it was clear, was not a man who lacked the wherewithal to keep body and soul together, whereas she and those for whom she was responsible undoubtedly did. And although she did not think directly about the importance of making sure her baby above all others was protected from any hunger the household might suffer, her awareness of her child was never far from her mind.
And there was another reason why she was able to be so insouciant about what she was doing; the curate’s dismissal of her from Holy Trinity Church had made her deeply, coldly angry, had convinced her that if she had been abandoned by God as well as by her father, then she had every right to do what she had to do without any respect for God’s rules. Not that she thought this in so many words, but it was there at the back of her mind and made it remarkably easy for her to give Mr Harrod a wide and innocent smile.
‘There, Mr Harrod, I think that is all – unless you can think of something I might have forgotten? I am open to any suggestions you might have to make since you know your stock as you do.’
Mr Harrod looked down at his order book and positively smirked. ‘Well now, Mrs Quentin, it would be hard, indeed it would, to fault your thoroughness, though I could add some new tins of fruit, an excellent line we have just added? Very-modern, very good – shall I?’
She nodded, and happily he wrote it into the list with a flourish.
‘You won’t be sorry, Mrs Quentin. Quite delectable these plums are. I must say that it really does my heart good to see so young a lady, if I might be permitted to so put it, show such a keen grasp of kitchen needs and economy. Your husband is indeed a fortunate man to have so careful yet sensible a wife.’
‘I am sadly, now a widow, Mr Harrod,’ she said and cast her eyes down. He reddened, hurrumphed, rubbed his hands together and begged her pardon for his clumsiness all at once, and she thought almost gleefully – another point in my favour. It would be a long time before he would harry her now, however large the bill became.
‘You must forgive me, Ma’am. Deepest regrets, Ma’am. The thing of it is, we haven’t seen you at the shop of recent time, and –’
‘Ah, yes,’ she said, as smoothly as she was able. ‘I did take my custom elsewhere in order to pay lower prices for ready money. I decided I – er – that the saving involved was not so great that – um –’
He beamed, pleased with himself again. ‘If you’ll forgive me, Madam, I must say that I could have told you as much! We carry far superior goods to Mr Jobbins.’
‘Well, no doubt,’ she said hurriedly, not wishing to enter into any denigration of Mr Jobbins, who had been an excellent supplier of goods so far. ‘Let us just say I am happy to be dealing with you now.’
‘I too, Madam, am more than happy,’ Mr Harrod said fervently as she got to her feet and collected her gloves and her reticule. ‘Very happy.’
‘Well then, Mr Harrod,’ she said. ‘I look forward to receiving the order as soon as may be. As I told you, the kitchen is quite painted and restored now and we are ready to rake delivery at any moment.’
This afternoon, Ma’am,’ Mr Harrod beamed. ‘No later than three p.m.’
‘Thank you,’ she said serenely and went to the door. ‘I shall of course see you again in due course. Good morning, Mr Harrod!’ And she let him show her out to the street, bobbing politely all the way.
She stood outside for a moment, pulling on her gloves, and smiling to herself in satisfaction. All that tea, a full double tin, would last them at least two months, and the coffee likewise. The flour, the rice, the oats and lentils together with the jams, the pots of honey and the sugar would go almost as long as the rest of it – the paraffin oil, the candles, the soap, knife powder and all the other kitchen goods would last even longer. Not that such items mattered as much as comestibles but she had thought it politic to include them. Mr Harrod after all had swallowed whole her tale of a newly overhauled and redecorated kitchen; to neglect to purchase cleaning materials and lighting would surely have made him suspicious.
She turned and began to walk briskly along past Middle Queen’s Buildings, but lifted her head at the sound of a hail behind her.
‘Mrs Quentin!’ someone called and her heart sank. Had Mr Harrod looked again at the size of the order and decided that after all he wished to be paid for it in advance or at least on delivery? If he did, then her plan was quite ruined. There was no other grocer she could go to to run up such a bill. Mr Jobbins and she had been dealing on a cash-only basis for so long that he would naturally be highly suspicious if she suddenly demanded credit, and none of the other grocers in the row were well enough known to her to permit her even to consider approaching them in her present state of insolvency.
It was not Mr Harrod who was running after her but Charlie, his son, and she bit her lip as tears of disappointment, and perhaps anger and even, to an extent, shame rose in her. It was all to easy to cry these days, she found herself thinking. Too easy; and steeled herself to control the weeping as best she could until young Charlie had told her the order could not be filled. Then she’d be free to escape.
‘Mrs Quentin, I must say you’ve left my Pa looking like the original pup with two tails! You must have given him a very big order!’
She felt her nostrils narrow as she put all her efforts into controlling herself. ‘You clearly know perfectly well that I did,’ she said. ‘And I am sorry indeed that you should object.’
He gaped at her. ‘Object? Bless my soul, why would any tradesman object to the order of so excellent a customer as yourself? We would be strange indeed if we did business that way!’ He laughed heartily. ‘I know my old father’s a bit of a stick in the mud, Mrs Quentin, but he ain’t a fool!’
She looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Then the order will arrive this afternoon as promised?’
‘You may be sure of it!’ He beamed at her. ‘I’ll be abringin’ of it myself.’
‘Good,’ she said and turned to go. ‘Then that’s splendid.’
‘Uh, Mrs Quentin,’ he said and she turned back. He was looking a little uncomfortable and much younger. Quite a boy, in fact. ‘I was just wondering – could I – I just wanted a word.’ He looked back over his shoulder along the row of shops. The usual shopmen were out in front of each one, crying their wares, and he bit his lip. ‘If my Pa discovers I ain’t there, he’ll set about me when I do get back – I am very sorry to detain you but – well the thing of it is, I wanted to ask you for some help.’
‘Ask me for – how could I possibly be of help to you?’ She stared at him, genuinely puzzled. Whatever she had expected from this boy it wasn’t this. ‘I am in no position to –’
‘Well, yes you are, Mrs Quentin. Thing is,’ he swallowed, ‘it’s my Pa. He carries on amazing at me sometimes, really he does. I tell him it’s high time I got the chance to run the shop on my own, and I could, you know. I’m as smart a tradesman as he is. Just give me my chance and watch me go! But he won’t give me my chance, that’s the thing – every time I ask, it turns into a right up-and-downer and my Ma gets very angry too, and – well, I think it’s time I set up on my own. Not precisely on my own, you understand. I mean, I can’t get my own business, not yet. But I could live away from them, couldn’t I? It’d make life a deal more peaceful all round and like I said to him, I’d be near enough if I went into the right lodgings.’
‘Lodgings.’ She was bemused but he seemed not to notice and ran on.
‘If he thought I was in a decent household, well, maybe he’d consider letting me do it. And I talked to your Eliza.’ He went crimson and she set her head on one side as she began to understand for the first time.
‘Ah,’ she said, ‘Eliza.’
‘I’ve seen her when she comes to buy at that Jobbins’s. And I said to her once as how I was looking for good lodgings and she happened to sa
y as the house was a big one and I thought maybe – so I asked her to ask you, but she said she’d do no such thing. So I had to come and talk to you myself. There I was thinking of it, and there you are in the shop. It was like it was meant, you know? I thought – oh, lawks!’
From along the row of shops a stentorian roar had gone up, and even Tilly recognized it. Mr Harrod had noticed his son’s absence and like some primaeval animal concerned for its young, was bellowing for him.
‘I can’t stop, Ma’am,’ he said quickly. ‘But will you think about it? I’d pay a fair rent and all, and I’d be no trouble. I know you’ve got no servants in all those rooms now, Eliza said, and if you –’
‘I shall be speaking to Eliza,’ Tilly said firmly. ‘In the meantime, I have to tell you that she’s misled you. I cannot –’
‘Charlie!’ The roar came again and the boy fled, throwing her a comical glance that was an amalgam of regret and irritation at his father and hopefulness and a sort of pleading.
‘Don’t get me in trouble with Eliza, Mrs Quentin,’ he called back. ‘Even if you say no I’d hate that above all things.’ And he was gone, haring back down the street with his white apron flapping in the breeze, and Tilly watched him go, a faint frown between her eyes.
‘I never said he could come here, Mum, indeed I never did!’ Eliza’s eyes were wide with protest. ‘I wouldn’t take it upon myself to say any such thing! He was bein’ a deal cheekier than a boy should.’ She reddened. ‘He said he’d like to share a roof with me and I told him that even though there wasn’t that many rooms used for servants now, I wouldn’t share a roof with him not for anything, and him so pushful. And that was all I did say, Mum, as God is my witness, on my little sisters’ lives.’
London Lodgings Page 20
